


Threaded

by ceruleansmile



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Jim Kirk Is an Idiot, M/M, Romance, and so is Spock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleansmile/pseuds/ceruleansmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: The estimated chance for a successful planet-to-planet beaming had been a mere 1.3 percent. Considering the success rate for his own conception had been just as low, if not lower, Spock concluded the universe sometimes ceased to operate on logic, and instead opted for a more whimsical approach. Hence the unconscious humanoid curled up on the transporter pad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! It has been a while since I posted anything, and I apologise for that. I have not been in a very good spot, mentally, as of late and writing has been hard. Encoded has NOT been abandoned, but it will be rewritten, since I am no longer happy with how the story is progressing and it's been too long since I last updated!  
> Anyway, enjoy!  
> Btw, my tumblr is: oh-boy-dr-mccoy.tumblr.com

The estimated chance for a successful planet-to-planet beaming had been a mere 1.3 percent.

Considering the success rate for his own conception had been just as low, if not lower, Spock concluded the universe sometimes ceased to operate on logic, and instead opted for a more whimsical approach. Hence the unconscious humanoid curled up on the transporter pad Spock had constructed to test his theory on interplanetary beaming. For whatever reason, the coordinates Spock had fed into the machine had not been those of a remote location as he believed them to be.

Or, perhaps, the inhabitants of Terra were simply prone to wander where they should not.

Abandoning the PADD Spock had been using to document the transporter’s data feed in favor of moving closer to the prone _tfi’kien_. Golden hair, matted down by sweat along the forehead, caught Spock’s eye. It was a shade rarely seen on Vulcan, for it did not provide as much protection against the harsh light of Vulcan’s sun and occurred so seldom, it was seen as a sign of divinity in ancient times.

With careful hands, Spock clasped the Terran’s shoulders and maneuvered them onto their back. Head lolling, the Terran did not utter even a sound at being moved, their new position revealing a torn jacket and a deep cut just above their left eyebrow. Crimson blood oozed from the wound, clotting into an almost black crust along the _tfi’kien’s_ temple. Medical attention was clearly needed, Spock concluded.

The next realization sent an unwanted sensation of numbness rushing into the tips of Spock’s fingers. He could not request assistance from a doctor. If the faculty was made aware of Spock’s mistake, there was no doubt they would grasp the opportunity presented to remove him from the VSA research program. A devastating outcome, after Spock had worked so hard to be allowed into the academy and worked hard to be at the very top in every single one of his classes to prove himself.

Uncertainty tightened its grip on Spock’s mind.

Keeping a tight clamp on the unpleasant emotions threatening to swash from his mind throughout his body, Spock shifted until he was able to lift the Terran off the ground and against his chest. They were much lighter than expected.  A last glance was cast upon the transporter pad before Spock carried his burden from the laboratory into the small back office.

Once Spock had settled the unresponsive Terran into the bowl-shaped chair located behind the broad desk, he moved away with a contemplative hum. How was he supposed to bring the Terran out of the VSA without being noticed by whoever else remained within the building? Glancing about the office, Spock’s eyes landed on the spare robe he had left on a hook by the door a week ago.

Fifteen minutes later, Spock found himself carrying the still very much unconscious _tfi’kien_ through the vacant hallways of the VSA. To hide the Terran’s features, Spock had bundled him into the grey robe and pulled the large hood over the stranger’s golden hair. If he was quick enough, Spock would be able to exit the VSA without being questioned. If not, then the robe would at least be enough to hide the stranger’s origins. After all, every citizen who did not originate from Vulcan needed to be approved of and registered. The Terran in his arms was neither of those things.

Head held high, Spock marched towards the double doors leading out of the facility. Twelve point six feet away from their salvific vicinity, Spock’s name was called out. Schooling his features into the most expressionless of masks, Spock turned to meet the inquiring gaze of one of his former instructors. Tightening his grip on the unconscious Terran, Spock raised an eyebrow, “Elder Voris?”

The elderly Vulcan leaned a bit heavier upon his cane, eyes dark and despite Voris’ age, still gleaming with a piercing clarity. “I was informed of your rather unusual behavior by one of the guards in corridor A. Who is it you are carrying, Spock?”

Spock did not hesitate. “My bondmate. He came to see how my work was progressing and fell asleep while doing so. His health has not been the best as of recent. I thus found it logical to carry him to the car, instead of forcing him to walk and cause additional strain upon his immune system.”

Spock hoped his assumption regarding the Terran’s gender was correct. Otherwise, Spock might have added another problem to his growing list just now.

The Elder did not reply for a breathless 34.2 seconds. Unable to allow even a hint of tension to overtake his facial features, Spock kept his gaze steady and his shoulders squared. If he failed to convince Voris now, all of Spock’s hard work would be for naught. Not again could Spock be the reason for his mother’s tears and his father’s disappointment. Twenty-three years Spock had spent trying to prove his worth. Giving up was not an option now.

“I see,” Voris inclined his head. “I was not aware you were bonded, Spock.”

“The bonding took place two point three months ago. I requested a leave of three days, if you recall, Elder Voris. I did not think it necessary to state my reasoning why, seeing as whether I am bonded or not is of no impact to my work.” The requested leave had taken place, but for another, entirely mundane reason.

“Logical,” Elder Voris agreed and lifted his hand in the traditional _ta’al_. “I wish you and your bondmate a safe travel, Spock. May their health improve soon.”

Spock adjusted his grip on the Terran’s limp body and dipped his head. “I will see to it, Elder Voris.”

As soon as the Elder had turned, Spock continued his journey, eager to leave the VSA and its implied dangers behind. Through the double door Spock stepped into the cold night, the sand unable to store the blazing heat of _alam’ak_ to keep the temperatures within an acceptable range. To avoid meeting another curious VSA attendant, Spock made his way towards his car.

The drive home was overshadowed by an onerous silence. As the minutes ticked by, the sheer magnitude of Spock’s actions began to sink in. His machine had malfunctioned, and Spock was certain it was due to a miscalculation by none other than himself. He had lied to one of the most well-known and respected professors employed at the VSA. And, worst of all, an innocent stranger had been pulled into Spock’s net of lies to ensure it would not be torn apart and reveal Spock’s failure.

It was now, Spock realized he did not think this through in any logical way. How would he explain the situation to the _tfi’kien_ beside him? To his parents? Would Elder Voris contact Spock’s father to request confirmation regarding his son’s apparent bonding?

Grasping the steering wheel just a midge tighter, Spock gave a firm shake of the head. No. It would not be logical for Voris to do so, for there was no logic in doubting Spock’s words in a society where lying was never assumed. Still, Spock’s hybrid status had often enough caused his peers and professors to question his mental health, stating the differing attitudes of Terrans and Vulcans towards emotions might be enough to leave his mind in a constant state of self-destructive chaos.

Right now, Spock wondered if, perhaps, some truth had rung alongside their hurtful statements. After all, it had not been the logic Vulcans were known for which spurred Spock’s actions back at the VSA. No. Simple, primal fear had guided his hand and made Spock another fine example as to why the people of Vulcan had abandoned the emotional path so many centuries ago.

Where fear ruled, there was no place for rationality.

The car came to a halt just outside the perimeter of Spock’s home. It was a small, rounded house, nestled against a jagged boulder. The building’s southern wall flowed seamlessly into the steep drop of the adjacent cliff, providing an unobstructed view of the desert stretching out towards the horizon, towards the sea glittering in the distance. Located outside the city limits, the house was meant to be a refuge for Spock. Now, he realized, it proved to be the perfect hiding place for Spock’s unexpected guest.

Climbing out of the vehicle, Spock rounded the black car to retrieve the Terran from the passenger seat. Once again, Spock was baffled by how light the stranger was. Had his control been any less than perfect, Spock was certain he would have catapulted the Terran straight through the roof of his car by over-anticipating the amount of strength needed to lift the stranger.

Nudging the car door shut with his elbow, Spock locked the vehicle and proceeded towards the entrance of his home.

The air inside was somewhat stale and for the first time, Spock understood his mother’s unwillingness to return to an empty home by herself. There was a strange sense of something left abandoned, cold and close unwelcoming. Shaking off the discomfort, Spock quietly ordered the lights to activate themselves at fifty percent and for the air conditioning to bring the temperature to a comfortable twenty degrees Celsius.

Toeing off his boots, Spock padded down the hallway into the living room to place his guest down onto the couch. With slow and cautious movements, Spock began to pull the grey cloak off the Terran’s battered body and tugged the worn boots of his feet. Now, in the soft light, the Terran’s injuries seemed just a tad more severe, the golden glow causing the wounds to appear darker and deeper than they were.

Setting aside the cloak, Spock stood to retrieve the dermal regenerator. It would not be enough to heal the cut upon the Terran’s head, but the device should be able to remove most of the bruising littering the stranger’s skin. Twenty minutes were spent on treating the various wounds and, by the end of it, the Terran was left with nothing but a gauze pad to cover the half-healed head injury and a few band aids where the regenerator had proven too weak a healing device.

Clearing away the mess of bloodied wipes and empty band aid wrappers, Spock contemplated how he would go about explaining the situation to his guest. The Terran would no doubt be shocked, perhaps even scared. After all, only a miniscule percentage of Terra’s population was aware of Vulcan’s existence, each individual handpicked by those responsible for initiating First Contact.

Spock’s mother had been one of these individuals.

As a former aerospace engineer at NASA, Amanda Grayson had created a crude WARP engine and caught the attention of the Vulcan Council. The decision to send Spock’s father, Sarek, down to observe Amanda’s progress was made a mere week after. Of course, back then, no one had anticipated the outcome of said monitoring to be an interspecies relationship and a child.

A soft, pained groan drew Spock’s attention back to the present.

The Terran’s face was contorted in obvious discomfort, eyes squeezed shut and mouth drawn into a tight line. Patiently, Spock waited for the Terran to regain his bearings. It took 3.4 minutes before the stranger opened his eyes. A blue so rich and bright, Spock had only ever seen it portrayed in the pictures of the Maldivian beaches his mother had shown him, was revealed.

Intrigued, Spock found himself stepping a bit closer to the sofa. The second Spock moved, the Terran sat up and raised his arms in a defensive gesture, barking out an unintelligible string of words. Startled, Spock froze. Aggression had been the last thing Spock had expected the Terran to react with.

“There is no need for defense,” Spock assured. “You are not in danger.”

A rough, incredulous laugh fell from the Terran’s quivering lips. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

Ever so slowly, the Terran lowered his arms, meeting Spock’s gaze with a distrustful glare of his own. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“My name is S’chn T’Gai Spock and you are in my home.” Spock settled down in the basket chair close by, hoping his diminished height would ease the Terran further. “You are-”

“Sh…T… what? What kind of name is that?” the Terran blurted. “Are you trying to be funny? Is that why you’re wearing elf ears?”

“You may call me by my first name _Spock_. As for my ears, I do not understand your query, they are perfectly normal for Vulcan standards.”

“ _Vulcan standards_? What’s that supposed to mean? Are you one of those crazy LARP guys who don’t know when to stop?” With a grunt, the Terran swung his legs off the couch, socked feet landing on the plush rug.

“I do not understand.” Spock felt a small headache form right between his eyebrows. “If you would cease your illogical questions for a moment, I would be able to explain the situation and you will no longer feel the need to question my appearance.”

The stranger scoffed. “Fine. Go ahead, then.”

“Very well. I was working on a project in regards to planet-to-planet beaming, but miscalculated. My mistake lead to your person being plucked from the location I deemed empty and transported onto the experimental beaming pad located in laboratory 3 at the Vulcan Science Academy. I decided to take you to my home and treat your wounds, seeing as alerting a doctor would have… lead to unpleasant consequences for us both.”

For a moment, the Terran did not seem to even breathe. Then, “ _What the fuck_?”

Taken aback, Spock watched as the Terran began to laugh. The sound was jarring and loud, so alien within a home where silence reigned most days. Spock did not think his mother had ever laughed like this in his presence. Laughter was not a sound often heard upon Vulcan, with most instances being uttered by an untrained child or someone not native to the planet.

“Why are you laughing?” Spock inquired.

“Why am I-? Because you’re hilarious! Are you trying to tell me we’re on another planet right now?”

“Indeed. In addition, you have yet to tell me your name,” Spock replied, confused when more laughter pearled from the Terran’s open mouth.

“Jim,” the Terran gasped. “Name’s Jim. You’re fucking hilarious, man. You had me going there for a second, what with the ears and the weird interior design. I’m impressed. Anyway, thanks for patching me up, not a fan of hospitals, to be honest, so I guess I can forgive the weird ass kidnapping. Are we still in Riverside? I ought to get home.”

Had he underestimated Jim’s head injury? Had Sarek struggled just the same when Spock’s father revealed his identity to Amanda? Spock felt the sudden, illogical desire to tear his own hair out.  “Jim, I do not think you understand. You are no longer on Terra. Why would I lie to you? I do not know you and have nothing to gain from deceiving you.”

Jim’s laughter ceased, a pensive expression overtaking his features. “Look, Spock, I… appreciate your dedication and you sound very convincing. But… there’s absolutely no way we’re on another planet right now. That’s just… not a thing. So, unless you can prove to me you’re a little green alien guy by showing me a third eye or a set of overly sexual tentacles, I think it’s safe to say, you’re just a very good actor, or I’m talking to a concussion induced hallucination. Actually, that last part seems pretty likely right about now.”

“I can assure you, I am not a hallucination,” Spock muttered. “However, I do have green blood. Would a demonstration of said fact convince you to believe my word?”

“Green blood? A demonstration? What do you- oh _fuck_! Did you just bite through your bottom lip? What the fuck is wrong with- _holy shit your blood is green_!”

“As I have said.” Spock pressed the sleeve of his cardigan against the swelling flesh, stemming the blood flow he had caused. Were Terrans always so fond of using excessive amounts of profanity? “Though, I must agree, this was not my most thought-out plan.”

Jim snorted. “I’ll say. You going to be okay? That looks really painful.”

“It is of no consequence, I am in possession of a dermal regenerator,” Spock assured, leaning forward to retrieve the small, handheld device from the wooden table it was resting on. “Do you believe me now?”

“I guess? This being a hallucination still sounds more plausible to me, though.” Jim shrugged.

Spock gave an inaudible sigh and activated the regenerator. In an instant, the throbbing wound was soothed and the torn flesh knit itself together over the course of several seconds. Left behind was a patch of new, raw skin, still tender to the touch. Upon setting down the dermal regenerator, Spock noted the baffled expression which had overtaken Jim’s face. “Are you alright, Jim?”

“Ah… yeah? I mean, apart from the fact that I just watched you wave a magic wand over your face to heal a split lip, I’m totally fine!” Jim declared before slumping back against the thick pillows stacked against the armrest of the couch. “This is insane. I’m dreaming. In two hours, I’m going to wake up in my bed and this’ll all have been a really weird, crazy nightmare.”

“Jim, I assure you, you are not having a nightmare. I am very much a real person, just as you are.” Spock could not believe Jim was still holding onto denial.

Was this large an amount of self-delusion considered healthy among the Earthen population? Perhaps it was a kind of protection mechanism of their brain to avoid excessive damage due to an overload of information, or traumatic experiences. Being beamed upon a strange planet could be considered traumatic, Spock concluded. Unknown environments were, after all, a proven stress factor for many species. Even Vulcans were prone to suffer from diminished control when placed in unfamiliar scenery.

Maybe, tomorrow, after a night of rest, Jim would be a little easier to reason with.

“Whatever you say, Mr Alien Spock,” Jim slurred, the odd tone of his voice a cause of mild alarm. “Gonna sleep now. Night night.”

Spock blinked, watching as, from one second to the next, Jim seemed to nod off, the air soon filling with soft, barely audible snores. “…Goodnight, Jim.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the long wait, life has been hard for me in the mental health department as of late. I apologise for any error you find, I did my best to comb through the chapter, but, yeah.

The next morning dawned earlier than Spock would have preferred. The sun had not yet breached the horizon in its entirety, tainting the surface of Vulcan an eerie crimson. A chill lingered beyond the confines of Spock’s blanket cocoon, the last remains of the nightly drop in temperatures.

Brows furrowing, Spock attempted to detect just what had caused his premature wakefulness. A loud crash and an array of curses Spock would not dare repeat in the presence of even a Klingon sounded from the direction of the living room. The events of last night rose to the forefront of Spock’s mind.

It seemed Jim had woken before Spock, despite - or perhaps _because_ \- of his head injury.

Keeping his blanket wrapped around himself, Spock stood. There was no reason to avoid confrontation, and there was an ever increasing risk of something Spock’s mother had prescribed sentimental value to being destroyed. Under no circumstances would Spock allow for the things his mother had gifted him to be damaged.

Braving the cold tiles of his bathroom first, Spock took care of his morning ablutions before pulling on a set of fresh clothes. Then, after brushing his teeth and combing his hair, Spock ventured down the stairs into the living area. Prepared to find a scene of destruction, Spock was surprised to see nothing out of place, apart from Jim, who had tumbled off the couch and was now lying face-down on the stone-tiled floor.

“Jim?” Spock inquired. “Have you injured yourself further?”

No answer came forth for 10.6 seconds, before Jim turned his head to glare at Spock through half-lidded eyes. “No. But I’m pretty eager to hear an explanation for what exactly happened last night. Because I’m sure I didn’t get drunk enough to go home with some second-grade Legolas.”

“You do not recall the conversation we held last night?”

“Not much of it, at least.” Jim pushed himself upright with a groan. “Fuck, I feel like I got steamrolled. Twice. Anyway, get talking. What happened? Why am I here? Where is ‘here’, because we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

“I do not understand. My name is not Toto.”

“And I’ve never been to Kansas. Are you still going with that ‘I’m an alien’ shtick? It’s not funny anymore, you know?” Jim flapped his hand at Spock. “Come on, Legolas, just start from the beginning. You’re clearly not a bad guy, considering you took the time to put band aids on every single scratch you found. I promise I won’t sic the police on you for practically kidnapping me.”

Had Spock been any less Vulcan, he would have heaved a sigh of mild exasperation at this very moment. Once again, he did his best to explain the situation. This time, Jim stayed silent until Spock had finished, his face as blank as any Vulcan’s would have been. Three-point-two minutes went by after Spock’s extensive explanation, before Jim opened his mouth and spoke, “Well this certainly explains why your cellphone looks like something straight out of a sci-fi flick.”

“Cellphone?”

A sheepish expression bloomed across Jim’s face and opened the hand which had held the broken remains of Spock’s communicator. “Eh, yeah, this… thing. Sorry about breaking it, by the way, it started beeping and I thought it was my alarm clock and… well, I did what anyone would do when faced with an alarm clock early in the morning.”

Spock decided not to ask why Jim thought the proper response to a ringing alarm clock was to smash it to pieces. Clearly, there was some Terran customs Spock had not been made aware of by his ever-helpful mother. With a minute shake of the head, Spock shook off the myriad of questions regarding Jim’s apparent aversion towards alarm clocks and spoke, “It is surprising how easily you have accepted my explanation. When I spoke to you last night, you first believed me to be a liar and then a rather elaborate hallucination.”

“Yeah, well, still not so sure about the second option, but judging from the amount of pain I’m in, I think it’s safe to say I’m wide awake.” Jim shrugged. “I mean, yeah, this is kind of… crazy. Beats lying in the middle of a corn field after getting my ass kicked, though.”

“Were you attacked?” Spock inquired, alarmed at the prospect.

Jim hesitated, brows furrowed and the edges of his mouth turned down. Then, Jim shook his head and with a small laugh said, “Nah. I’m pretty sure I had a slight accident with my motorcycle. Vaguely remember swerving off the road. But that’s beside the point. You said you had to tell a lie to get me out of… what was it? The Vulcan Science Academy?”

“Indeed.” Spock felt the tips of his ears grow warm. “I was confronted by one of my former instructors, Elder Voris. To explain your cloaked presence in my arms, I… declared you to be my bond mate and that you had fallen asleep waiting for me.”

“Bond… mate?”

“It is similar to your planet’s version of marriage.”

“…Well, that’s one elaborate story to tell for something so minor as a freak-accident,” Jim muttered as he dragged himself back onto the couch.

“It is not ‘minor’, Jim. Not only did I abduct a citizen from a non-Warp capable planet, if my mistake is found out, I will likely be unable to continue my research. I might possibly lose my place within the academy and have my license suspended. Perhaps even revoked.” For a moment, Spock closed his eyes to center himself. “However, I know I will have to explain myself to everyone, if I wish to succeed in returning you to your planet. While it is considered illogical to apologize for something I had no direct control over, I deeply regret what I have done. I do hope you can forgive my transgression, Jim.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Jim raised his hands, palms facing Spock. “Are you serious? It was an accident, Spock! They can’t fault you for that. I mean, like you said, you had no control over what happened, you did your calculations and-”

“It does not matter,” Spock interrupted. “The Council will not care for excuses. I am also certain they have been waiting for me to make a mistake large enough to merit my removal from the academy. I will inform the Council of our predicament once we have eaten breakfast.”

Jim shook his head. “Now wait a second. I don’t want to be responsible for you losing your job! There has to be another way.”

“Illogical. You are not responsible for any of my wrongdoings, Jim. You are an innocent bystander in this. There is no reason for you to experience any kind of guilt.”

“You said you’d been working on that … beamer for a while, right? And it worked! Can’t you just… smuggle me back into the Science Academy and send me back?”

Spock shook his head. “The beamer was not configured to beam anything larger than a stone onto Vulcan, it should have not been possible for you be beamed here instead. Your presence here will be a clear sign of my own incompetence to the Council. If my options are to risk harming you by attempting to beam you back to Terra, or confess my mistake to the Council, I will gladly do the latter, Jim.”

Jim groaned, running his hands through his tousled hair. “Alright. Listen, can I just… take a shower and we’ll discuss this after? I need to wake up properly before I can start digging my way through your stubborn head.”

“…Of course.” Patiently, Spock waited for Jim to stand before leading the Terran to the upstairs bath, deciding to forgo inquiring as to why Jim found it necessary to conjure such a gory image in order to convey what he was saying.

After a quick explanation of how to use the shower controls and where to find towels, Spock left Jim to his devices in order to retrieve fresh clothing. It proved a little difficult to find garments which would fit Jim’s shorter stature, but by the time Jim had finished his shower, Spock had found a pair of slacks and paired it with a light, flowing shirt Spock was sure he had never worn. Both items were snatched from Spock’s hands as soon as Jim had been alerted to his presence outside the bathroom, the door clicking shut as quickly as it had opened. Humans could be so very peculiar when it came to nudity.

Returning to the kitchen, Spock began to prepare a simple breakfast for both Jim and himself, careful to use less spices to not overwhelm the Terran. In addition, he had ensured the temperature within the house would not rise above twenty-two degrees Celsius. It was Mother’s preferred temperature. Given Earth’s overall state of being, it was only logical to assume all humans were more comfortable in cooler environments, as Mother was not keen on leaving the house unless it was early morning or nightfall.

Jim entered the kitchen just as Spock set a plate of _kreyla_ into the center of the dining table, appearing much more composed than before. “Oh! You made breakfast!”

“Indeed. My mother believes a discussion will be concluded quicker, if one is sated. As her words have held true a number of times before in the past, I trust they will do so again today.”

Jim laughed. “Well, it definitely looks great. There’s no peanuts in there, right?”

“…No, Jim, there are no peanuts in any of these dishes.”

“Good! ‘cause then we’d be having a different kind of problem altogether.”

“I do not understand.”

“I’m a bit of a walking allergic reaction,” Jim replied, slumping down onto the closest chair and reaching for a piece of _kreyla_. “If I turn blue or break out in hives, please rush me to the nearest hospital.”

Perhaps Spock should call his father right away to take Jim back to Earth this instant, instead of allowing Jim to sample any of the proffered food. Of course, Spock’s musings came a moment too late, for Jim had already reached out and promptly stuffed a large amount of _kreyla_ into his mouth, after slathering it with a helping of sweetened _pla-savas khlup_. Muscles tense and every breath a calculated rhythm of inhale and exhale, Spock watched as Jim chewed, then swallowed.

After 10.4 seconds, Jim gave a quick shrug and continued to eat, as if the imminent threat of anaphylactic shock was but a minor concern. Not for the first time Spock contemplated how Humans had risen to the top of the food chain considering their tendency to ignore all warnings and even their own limits. But, perhaps, it was said inability to heed caution, which had pushed them to where they were now. And, maybe, Spock should learn not to question another planet’s populace when his own people had broken through a vicious cycle of aggression and war to pursue a life of logic not too long ago.

The meal was finished in silence. Jim’s polite offer to help clear the table was dismissed by Spock on the count of Jim being the guest and should thus not be asked to clean. In truth, Spock was stalling for time. It was clear Jim would attempt to convince Spock not to alert the High Council of the situation. While Spock doubted the Terran would succeed in doing so, he needed to ensure Jim understood why there was no other viable alternative.

As he placed the last plate into the dishwasher and returned the juice container into its place within the refrigerator, Spock heard the legs of a chair scraping across the tiled ground followed by the soft tread of bare feet. Jim came to stand beside Spock, planting his palms flat onto the kitchen counter as he spoke, “So… let’s talk. I’m not letting you ruin your life over this.”

Spock shook his head. “I appreciate your concern, Jim, but I must alert the authorities of your presence. There is no other way to return you to your home.”

“You already told your professor I was your husband. Why not run with that? You must’ve gone to Earth at one point to scout out the location, right?”

“Bondmates. Had I implied you were my husband, there would have been a change in my documents made to indicate my married status. However, I do not see the relevance-”

“What is the difference between being married and being bondmates?” Jim interrupted, a steep furrow between his brows. “What does being bondmates even mean? Is this some kind of ancient ritual you do out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by chanting priests?”

Eyes fluttering open and shut in a slow, measured blink, Spock could not help the sigh slipping past his lips. “No, Jim. While that is likely something which was done in most ancient civilizations upon Vulcan, nowadays, a bonded pair is not required to have any kind of archaic ritual performed to declare their bond legitimate.”

“Great. Doesn’t answer my initial question, though. What do you mean when you say ‘bonded pair’?”

Casting aside the inherent need to keep the information confidential, Spock drew a measured breath and began to explain the complexities of the touch telepathy his people were known for. Jim did not interrupt even once, nodding along as Spock maneuvered them through the theoretical steps of a mindmeld, and did his best to weave the intricate network of individual bonds and links into understandable words. Starting with the infantile link of a newborn to their mother, Spock ended his explanation with the recount of the ancient tale depicting the last occurrence of a _t’hy’la_ bond.

As Spock ceased to speak, his eyes locking onto Jim’s face. A rather strange expression had contorted Jim’s face, the most prominent features of which were a furrowed brow and puckered lips. Spock could not remember seeing such a complicated display of emotional distress anywhere else before now.

“Does this answer your question, Jim?” Spock inquired after 14.6 seconds of silence.

“I… I guess?” Jim shook his head, fingers rubbing at his temples. “So, you told your professor you were mind-married to me, is what you’re saying?”

Correcting Jim regarding his constant misuse of the word ‘married’ once again seemed redundant at this point. “Indeed.”

“So, you do the mind-marrying before the actual wedding? That’s crazy.”

Spock shifted in his seat. “A true bond is the final stage of a matured link, as I have explained before. This bond will continue to grow, if nurtured, or fade away when neglected. If said bond is one between lovers, they are entitled to request a formal bonding ceremony, a wedding, as you call it.”

“Huh.” Jim gave a slow blink, a bemused smile curving his lips. “So, basically, a close to fool-proof method to avoid unhappy marriages.”

Inclining his head, Spock contemplated Jim’s statement before replying, “It is proven Vulcan has a significantly lower amount of divorces than most other planets with similar kinds of ceremonies, yes.”

“Great, so, as your mind-husband, I should still be granted citizenship, though, right? I’d be able to stay here until you figure out how to get me back without issue.”

Spock furrowed his brows. “Indeed. However, it does not explain how we bonded, nor why I did not alert anyone to our bonding in the first place. I would have had to break the one rule I was given while scouting Terra for a location to test my invention.”

“’Don’t talk to strangers’, huh?” Jim scoffed. “Come on. Don’t tell me none of your people ever came down to Earth, saw some hot person walk down the street and thought, ‘I’m going to tap that’.”

Cheeks growing hot with the sharp bite of embarrassment, Spock grit his teeth. “There have been… cases, yes. My parents being one of them. However, their meeting was a planned one, my father was given permission to interact with my mother, albeit in a much less intimate manner. A unique situation which called for a unique resolution. Though I suspect my father’s high standing within the Council at a young age played part in the ultimate verdict.”

Surprise brightened Jim’s eyes. “Your Mom’s human?”

“Yes.” Spock replied, after a moment of hesitation.

“Okay!” Jim exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat with an air of manic delight. “So we just say it was love at first sight. No big deal. You said a newly matured bond between lovers can cause pain when they are separated for long periods of time. Your Dad’s a pretty big personality in your Council, still, right? He’ll be able to smooth things over until we can get me back home.”

“Jim, it would not explain a bond between us,” Spock implored, and knew the frustration he could sense leaking from beyond his shields attempting to color his voice. “A link takes months to mature, and perhaps even longer considering you are not Vulcan. I have only started testing my machine on Terra two months prior, and the possibility of a link forming between us is already questionable. To believe the link to have grown into a bond mature enough to warrant me taking you to Vulcan with me as to avoid brain damage in such a short amount of time is absurd.”

A steep crease appeared between Jim’s brows, teeth digging into the plush bottom lip as he slumped against the backrest. “You mentioned there were exceptions. And you said something about spontaneous bonds between two attuned minds. Can’t we just… say that’s what’s going on? You said forcing someone into a mindmeld was forbidden and punishable by law. They can’t check if the bond’s actually there, right?”

“If we declare our bond to be spontaneous, the Council will no doubt demand our minds to be examined. However-,” Spock cut himself off, closing his eyes upon realizing Jim had somehow managed to convince Spock into considering Jim’s adventurous plan. Opening his eyes to meet Jim’s grin, Spock continued, “However, a bond, no matter which kind, needs to settle first, a process which does not allow for any kind of outside invasion for up to six months.”

Jim’s grin grew larger, teeth glinting in the gentle overhead light. “Enough time to figure out how to get me back home, right?”

“It should be enough time to request another scouting trip to Terra,” Spock mused. “Should your plan prove successful and I suffer no consequences.”

“Then I guess it’s decided, my dear husband,” Jim chirped, and Spock found he wanted to return Jim’s wide smile for just a moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long. This chapter is a very oddly constructed mess, which I also apologise for. I hope you enjoy it anyway, somewhat. Yikes.

In order to ensure their charade would withstand the scrutiny of both the Council and Spock’s parents, Spock had soon realized they would need to construct a believable base for their pseudo-relationship.

Upon voicing his concerns to Jim, Spock found himself swept up in an array of question-based games, each one more personal in nature than the ones preceding it. The remaining hours of their day were spent teaching Jim the basics of Vulcan technology and language. Jim proved to be an excellent student, displaying a vast intellect and infinite curiosity. Spock had never considered himself to be made to teach, but there was no denying Jim’s overall enthusiasm for everything new was difficult to disregard.

Twelve days passed in this manner before Jim deemed their knowledge about one another sufficient and Spock declared Jim proficient enough to follow a simple conversation held in _ShiKahrian Vuhlkansu_. Still, Spock was uncertain whether he would be able to emulate the changes of a romantically bonded mind should his father decide to examine their familial link.

A soft shuffling sound drew Spock from his meditation, eyes opening to focus upon Jim standing in the doorway to Spock’s room.

Still dressed in a sleeping robe and a too-long pair of pants he had no doubt liberated from Spock’s drawers, Jim stood, his hair a mess of golden locks and eyes half-lidded. “Mornin’, Spock.”

“Good morning, Jim,” Spock replied, rising from his seat on the meditation mat. “You appear tired.”

Jim shrugged. “Don’t like getting up early.”

“You are free to return to bed.”

“If I do that, I’ll sleep the whole day away.”

Unfolding his legs, Spock allowed the muscles in his calves and thighs relax. “I see. Then perhaps you would prefer an early breakfast, instead?”

“You know me so well,” Jim laughed, rubbing at his left cheek. “You done meditating?”

“I have finished, yes.”

“Great, let’s go make some food. We didn’t get to eat breakfast together yesterday, and I need you to explain the stove one more time before you leave. Do we still have some _kreyla_ left?”

Breakfast came and went, and Spock soon realized he would not find time to voice his concerns until well into the evening. Most of Spock’s day was spent at the Academy, sorting through the test results of his recent beaming attempts, before he made way into the inner city to purchase more sweet _pla-savas khlup_. Jim had developed a rather shameless habit of eating the fruit preserve straight from the jar. Spock did not doubt his mother would be rather cross if Jim were to do the same in her household.

Upon entering the house, Spock was greeted by faint music and the spicy scent of _barkaya marak_ and roasted _plomeek_. Jim had, despite struggling at first, been quite determined in his quest to take over the kitchen from Spock. Protests from Spock had gone ignored until Spock had given in, allowing Jim to experiment and find his way around the foreign foods located within their shared home.

“Jim?” Spock called out. “I have returned.”

“Great! Dinner’s almost done.” A short silence commenced, broken by a groan of exaggerated despair followed by laughter. “Wow, I sound like a housewife from the nineteen-fifties.”

Knowing better than to request an explanation, Spock divested himself of his shoes and outerwear before moving on into the kitchen. Setting the jars of _pla-savas khlup_ down onto the kitchen counter, Spock chanced a quick glance at soup Jim was stirring. It held the familiar dark violet coloring of _barkaya marak_ , but Spock was certain he had glimpsed several spices and vegetable chunks not usually found within said dish. It seemed Jim had not been satisfied with the original recipe Spock had provided and decided to experiment.

They settled at the kitchen table with a bowl of soup each, a healthy sprinkling of roasted _plomeek_ floating on the surface of the blue broth. Despite not having been prepared as it should have been, the soup was quite delicious, offering a more complex flavor. Quite like Amanda, Jim appeared to have found a way to circumvent the two extremes of the Vulcan cuisine, settling somewhere between the reign of blandness and overwhelming spices.

“Did you make any progress on your beaming project?” Jim inquired after 5.7 minutes of relative silence.

“I was able to locate a malfunctioning conduit within the target scanning system,” Spock replied. “It appears to have altered the scanning area to be enlarged, thus allowing the particle lock to determine you as the object to be beamed. It does not, however, explain how the transporter beamed you sixteen light years away from Terra. I was certain my attempt would fail, there was a minimal chance I would perhaps manage to retrieve a rock from one of _T’Khasi’s_ sister planets.”

Jim gave a soft hum. “Could there have been some kind of amplification effect?”

Spock shook his head once, uncertain. “I cannot say. Had it been a mere amplification of the transporter’s signal, I should have been able to replicate it in my recent computer simulation. Until I am capable of doing so, I will likely not be granted another scouting trip to Terra.”

“Quite a mystery we have on our hands here, isn’t it?” Jim smiled. “We’ve got around six months to figure this out, though. No need to panic just yet.”

“Indeed.” Shifting where he sat, Spock drew a deep breath before speaking once more, “Jim, there is something we need to discuss.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Do you recall the conversation we have had regarding bondmates and the significance of compatible minds?”

“Of course,” Jim waved his hand through the air. “Why?”

“I am uncertain whether we will be able to convincingly portray a newly bonded pair without at least a minor link allowing us to sense one another. A new bond is rather difficult to become used to and it has quite an impact on one’s behavior.” Spock’s brows furrowed ever so slightly. “I am uncertain whether I will be able to replicate those outward signs in a way which will convince my parents. My mother, in particular, is rather adept at knowing when I am not truthful.”

A soft laugh bubbled past Jim’s lips. “Yeah, that sounds like a real problem. Any ideas on how to keep that from happening?”

Setting down his spoon, Spock lowered his hands down into his lap. “With your permission, I would create a link between our minds in order to provide us with the means to behave as a bonded pair would. The link would be left partially open, in order to allow for some transference between us.”

For a long while, Jim did not respond, allowing an unpleasant silence to encompass the kitchen. A fine line had appeared between Jim’s brows, his mouth twisted into a lopsided pucker. When Jim finally spoke, his voice was soft and tinged with hesitation, “Would you be able to read my thoughts?”

“Depending on the compatibility of our minds, we may become aware of one another’s surface thoughts. However, I am confident I will be able to provide you with the necessary shielding, should it come to this. It is against my people’s ethics to pry into another being’s mind without explicit permission.” Spock hesitated, then added, “You are not obligated to agree to this, Jim. It was a mere idea.”

“I know, I know.” Jim waved a hand through the air. “It’s just… a big commitment. A very big commitment to a person I’ve only known for about two weeks.”

“The link is not like a bond, Jim, it is easily severed once it has served its purpose, I promise you this.”

“Well,” Jim chuckled, shoulders rising and falling in a quick shrug. “I can’t say I haven’t been curious about that touch telepathy of yours. Alright, I’m in. Let’s finish eating and then you can try and link our brains together.”

Relieved, Spock reached for his spoon to continue eating. “Very well, Jim.”

Once the evening meal had concluded and the dishes had been placed into the washer, Spock guided Jim into the living room where they settled upon the bowl-shaped sofa, facing one another. Neither of them spoke, the air thick like cotton, heavy with the knowledge of what was to happen. A tremor of nervous energy ran through Jim’s body in sporadic intervals, and Spock noted his own hands had begun to perspire. Spock could not recall the last time his body had reacted to a situation with unknown factors in such an unseemly fashion.

It was disconcerting.

Reaching out, Spock touched his fingertips to the knuckles of Jim’s tight fist, not yet ready to bring his hand close to the delicate skin of Jim’s face. Jim shuddered and relaxed, his hands unclenching, fingers stretching to brush against Spock’s. An intimate gesture, had it been made with the right intent. Like this, it was a greeting, tentative and fragile, like the probing antennae of a newly hatched pair of _ravot sherk’khan_ ghosting over one another.

As they grew acclimatized to one another’s touch, Spock allowed his shields to thin and weaken, slipping vague impressions through their joined hands. A soft, unexpected laugh tumbled from Jim’s mouth, the sound nothing more than a huffed breath accompanied by a bemused smile. “I can feel you.”

“Yes,” Spock replied, his voice just as quiet as Jim’s had been.

“It’s strange,” Jim continued, hooking his index-finger over Spock’s thumb. “But it feels… good.”

“Indeed.” Lifting his free hand, Spock let it hover in midair. “May I begin?”

In lieu of an answer, Jim leaned closer to Spock’s hand, his eyes slipping shut. Marveling at the show of trust, Spock finally brought the tips of his fingers to the tender skin of Jim’s cheek, arranging them in the ancient patterns he had been taught from birth. The hum of Jim’s mind was foreign, yet not unpleasant, and Spock did not hesitate as he spoke the age-old words of joining.

Like layers of thin gossamer fabric, Jim’s mind billowed outwards, welcoming Spock into its center as if it had been waiting for him to arrive. Impressions of rain and dark brown earth slid past Spock. Colors he had never witnessed anywhere outside the parameters of a holograph tinted the kaleidoscope of disordered thoughts pushing against Spock’s consciousness, each tasting faintly of panic.

Eager to soothe and experience the unfamiliar terrain of Jim’s mind in its full glory, Spock stroked along those frightened tendrils until they ceased attempting to push him from the cradle of Jim’s conscious. Soon, Spock felt the tugging of Jim’s curiosity pull him deeper, further in towards the core where he would be able to anchor their link. The blurred mess of colors began to fade, revealing ever shifting landscapes and an endless, starry sky.

The ground beneath Spock’s feet transformed with every step, from moss covered rocks, to dry earth, to flattened grass. Trees sprouted from the ground, growing and blossoming, their branches spreading upwards as if to scrape against the firmament, before they began to calcify, their colors fading to that of polished bone. From their naked branches bloomed a myriad of glowing spheres, pulsating and dripping with luminescent liquid.

A bizarre sight, Spock noted. Still, he approached the closest tree, having never quite lost the childish urge to inspect everything new and glistening. Drips of gleaming gold, warm and silky to the touch, landed upon Spock. Though imagined, Spock could not help the shudder the sensation prompted.

The golden droplets would not be wiped away, staining Spock’s skin like the juice of ripe _pla-savas_. Moving away, Spock ventured forward, weaving his way through the petrified trees as their glowing fruits painted them in shades of gold. A cool breeze rushed through the unmoving forest, bringing with it the scent of sun-dried sheets. An eternity seemed to flow by when the forest at last released its grip on Spock, releasing him out into the endless expanse of a wheat field.

From somewhere beyond the field came a whisper, echoing throughout the mindscape with the clarity of a bell. _Spock?_

Spock did not hesitate to respond in kind. _I am here._

As if prompted by their exchange, the vision around Spock began to crumble and twist, folding apart like a sheaf of papers. Baubles of shimmering gold splattered onto the ground, flung forward by an unfelt motion, the stars tumbled from their respective place, scorching the earth. Quiet chaos reigned before the sky itself became a wave of midnight blue, washing aside the field, the trees, and Spock.

Encompassed within the amniotic darkness of Jim’s subconscious, Spock was – for a moment – weightless. Then, Spock sank, lowering onto foreign soil once more. The night sky above was painted with the first colors of dawn, fingers of pink and tangerine tickling away at shades of dark blues. The ground was hard and littered with small rocks, to the side a cliff, yawning open like the maw of a large beast.

_Jim?_

_Spock_. A hand touched his shoulder, careful, uncertain.

Turning around, Spock found a friend. Jim stood, dressed pajamas and a pair of bright red socks Spock had never seen before, the sight unfamiliar when placed within the illogical complexities of a mindscape. A smile curved Jim’s lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth and confusion. _Where are we?_

_Your mind. I thought it best to allow you to guide me. I did not wish to move where you did not want me._

_Thanks,_ Jim laughed, the sound vibrating through Spock’s chest. _I have no clue what I’m doing, Spock._

_It was expected, Jim. You are not used to traversing your own mindscape in such a visual manner, as you are human._

_Makes sense. What do we do now?_

_We must find a place to anchor the link._

Jim frowned. _Right here?_

Spock shook his head. _You will know when we find the right place. Let us walk._

Jim nodded, reaching out to grasp onto Spock’s wrist, thumbing at the golden discoloration littering his skin. The sensation of Jim’s touch was almost non-existent, an echo of what it might have felt like, had it been real. Spock let himself be tugged along, to be lead where Jim wanted him to, just as he had done before.

Their journey did not take long, the rough ground morphing into the smooth pebbles of a stone beach and the air filled with the gentle rushing of the ocean. The sky above had brightened to an overwhelming cerulean, bouffant clouds swirling inwards in a never-ending spiral. Jim drew to a halt beside the rusted remains of a Terran vehicle, the red paint flaking and the rubber of its tires brittle.

Releasing Spock’s arm, Jim wrenched open the door, and clambered into the back seat. After a brief moment of hesitation, Spock followed, entering the car and tugging the door shut without much thought. No cramped backseat greeted Spock. Instead, he was seated upon a soft, yellow blanket within the quiet confines of a young child’s bedroom. Jim sat just a few feet from Spock, his hands twisted into the fabric beneath them and his eyes filled with an emotion Spock could not name, yet feel all too clearly. It was an overwhelming concoction of guilt and sadness, interspersed with the nostalgia of a childhood long gone.

_Here_ , Jim said. _The link belongs here._

Spock inclined his head. _You are certain?_

_Yes._

The window to their right slid open, allowing a fresh breeze to blow inside, the transparent curtain bulging and undulating in the wind. From the ceiling fell a droplet of warm water, followed by another, until the sporadic drips turned into rain. Once more, Jim reached for Spock’s hand and Spock met him halfway, pressing their slick palms against one another, holding fast.

The link threaded itself, a tight knitwork made from the trust they shared, the friendship they had cultivated over the short time they had known each other. It would not be finished until Spock returned to his own mindscape and anchored it there as well, but already it was glowing with health and warmth, welcoming Spock’s presence like an eager sehlat would a chin-scratch.

_It appears our minds are quite compatible, Jim._ Spock noted, the loose end of the infantile link twined tightly around his forearm.

The smile Jim had lost returned, bright and close to blinding. _Wouldn’t have expected anything else, Spock._

_Indeed._ Spock replied and bid Jim goodbye, easing his consciousness back into his own mind to complete the link. It slid into place without much prompting, rooting itself within the depths of Spock’s subconscious. A surge of emotion washed through the newborn thread, triumphant in its strength, a warrior declaring victory against all odds. This link, small yet growing stronger by the minute, was to be the key to return Jim to Terra.

Spock would make sure of that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me ages to post. I kept deleting it and, well. Anyway, here it is. It's a bit disjointed but I did my best.

The sun had not yet heaved itself fully above the horizon when Spock woke to the distant chirping of a _lara_. Crimson light tinted the world around Spock as he pried open tear-crusted eyes, speaking of a night spent sleeping without prior meditation. An unbridled frown creased Spock’s brow as he took in the fact he had fallen asleep on the living room couch, rather than his own bed.

Pushing upright to survey the situation, Spock found Jim, too, lay sprawled across the loose pillows filling the padded bowl, his face buried between two cushions to an almost alarming degree. Had it not been for the occasional sigh, Spock would have thought Jim dead. While Spock had witnessed Jim’s strange sleeping habits more than once, they never became any less disconcerting.

While Spock contemplated whether to leave the comfortable warmth of their impromptu nest, Jim began to shift. As if in response, something within Spock’s mind bloomed, like flecks of water color on thick paper, spreading in a smooth, circular wave. The link, Spock realized. It had lain dormant on Jim’s end during sleep and was now coming to life with sparks of muddled emotions.

For a moment, Spock was reminded of times long past, back when the parental bonds to both his mother and father had still been strong with the necessity to nurse an infantile mind, filling his young brain with colors and gentle words. The instinct to provide a similar kind of care for Jim, who had never been confronted with the disorienting reality of a mental link, was strong. An instinct not worth fighting, Spock decided, nudging at the link to send a sense of soothing calm across the twining thread.

Spock’s gesture did not have the desired effect, however, and Jim gave a startled grunt, his head twisting to stare at Spock through bleary eyes. “Whu’?”

“…Good morning, Jim,” Spock said.

Jim nodded and Spock was unsure whether his housemate had yet reached the level of awareness necessary for speech. Judging by the uncoordinated way Jim proceeded to wipe at his face, Spock suspected it would be a while before Jim would be coherent enough to hold a conversation with. Prolonged mind melds were known to cause excessive fatigue in some individuals.

Clearing his throat, Spock addressed Jim once more, “You may go back to sleep, Jim, I apologize for waking you.”

“S’kay,” Jim muttered, eyes halfway shut. “G’night.”

“Good night, Jim,” Spock whispered, wondering why he had done so a moment later.

Within 2.4 minutes, Jim had fallen back asleep and Spock decided to vacate the couch in order to meditate. Settling before the floor length windows making up a large portion of the eastern wall of the living room, Spock shut his eyes and allowed his consciousness to sink inwards.

Despite its recent birth, the link had been quite busy digging its slender roots into the groundwork of Spock’s mind. Colors, bright and new, seeped from the miniscule sapling growing from the dry earth, trickling and dripping down, soaking the dirt. A single, glowing pearl had grown from the plant’s delicate stem, reminiscent of those Spock had come to witness blooming from the trees in Jim’s rather fascinating mindscape.

Spock would permit the link to grow unhindered, to allow for a more authentic replica of a true bond.  Whether this decision would prove fruitful was yet to be seen. With a last glance at the small, ever growing sapling, Spock continued on through the mutable landscapes of his own mind. An hour Spock spent like this, buried within his own thoughts, shifting through the places which had been inadvertently touched by the link he now shared with Jim, familiarizing himself with the way it began to influence the area it had been planted into.

Upon emerging from his meditation, Spock went on to complete his morning routine, brushing his teeth before replacing his wrinkled clothes with a set of loose pants to carry out his matutinal work-out in. To avoid disturbing Jim’s rest a second time, Spock retreated out onto the porch, suppressing a shudder at the cool morning air. The stone tiles, at least, were of a pleasant temperature, warmed by the ever-rising sun despite the early hour.

Drawing a deep breath, Spock allowed himself a minute of quiet awe at the sight stretching out before him. To the south, the open desert sprawled, bearing some remnants of the _Sas-a-Shar_ , _T’Khasi_ ’s forge. Blocks of green-tinged glass littered the sand below the cliff side, much smaller than those found within _Sas-a-Shar_ ’s center, and polished smooth by the consistent breeze.

Beyond the plain of sand lay the great sea _T’Kala_ , a mere strip of glittering silver in the distance. To the east, straight ahead from where Spock had stepped through the glass door, he could see the gleaming towers of _Shi’Kahr_ , twisting high into the arid air and painted reddish gold by the morning sun.

It was at this moment Spock realized just how trapped Jim must have felt whenever left to his own devices, far away from home yet unable to explore.

Spock shook his head once, to chase away the intrusive thoughts, all too aware of how non-Vulcan the gesture was. Jim would be able to experience _T’Khasi_ in all its crimson glory soon enough. There was no need to linger over lost time and alternate scenarios which had not occurred. However, perhaps a small excursion outside would be beneficial to them both.

An undetermined amount of time later, Spock was interrupted by a soft, slurred voice emanating from the doorway behind him, “I was wondering where you got those muscles from.”

“Good morning, Jim,” Spock replied, without ceasing his current set of motions. “Have you slept well?”

“I think so.” Jim yawned. “Do you want me to start breakfast?”

“That would be optimal. I will be finished in 15.6 minutes.”

“Great. I’ll take a quick shower and then make us some food,” Jim declared before retreating.

Spock stepped back into the house sixteen minutes later, sweat-soaked and dusted in fine sand, having finished his work-out. Sounds emanated from the kitchen, indicating Jim had finished his morning ablutions and had started breakfast. In dire need of a shower, Spock left Jim to his puttering and made his way upstairs. After rinsing off the dirt clinging to his skin, Spock dressed and retrieved his PADD in order to alert the Academy regarding his need for a short leave of absence. It was imperative to keep in close contact with Jim for at least 48 hours to minimize the risk of it dissolving later on.

A response came soon after, acknowledging and granting Spock’s request without question.

Satisfied, Spock returned downstairs and entered the kitchen. The table was already set, its center dominated by a large bowl of fruit salad. A few slices of _kreyla_ had been placed into a small basket and a plate of sliced _fori_ sat beside it, accompanied by a tiny container of homemade _birkeen_ cream. Jim stood frowning in front of the open fridge, holding the glass pitcher filled with undiluted _pla-savas_ juice. It was a rather curious sight, but Spock had more than once witnessed Jim opening the fridge to peer inside and closing it again without retrieving anything from it.

A moment passed before Jim shut the door and muttered, “Thought we had some _khara_ stalks left.”

“I ate the remaining stalks yesterday morning,” Spock said, darting forward when Jim startled and almost dropped the pitcher. “My apologies, I had thought you heard me arrive.”

Jim snorted, allowing Spock to take the glass container from his hand. “You walk like a cat. Shame that link didn’t make me more aware of my surroundings. Would be very helpful when it comes to living with you.”

“I rebuilt my shields in order to avoid overwhelming you with new sensations upon waking,” Spock explained. “After breakfast, we may assess the level of transference the link allows for and I will adjust my shielding accordingly.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s eat.”

They settled in their respective seats and began their meal. The tranquil silence did not hold, but Spock had not expected it to. Yesterday had been a rather eventful day and to think Jim would not be affected by it was illogical. Still, Spock had not been prepared by the barrage of questions tumbling from Jim’s mouth just 4.7 minutes into breakfast. While Jim had proven on a number of occasions how excitable he could be, Spock had never felt quite as overwhelmed by it as he did at this very moment.

“Jim, please, slow down,” Spock requested, his hand reaching out to hover above Jim’s.

“Sorry.” Jim’s shoulders slumped with a deep sigh. “I keep remembering bits and pieces of last night, and it’s _fascinating_.”

The teasing undertone with which Jim said the one word Spock had grown so fond of using did not escape Spock’s notice. Neither did the way Jim’s eyes narrowed with poorly suppressed mirth, or the mischievous tilt to his lips, smeared with thick syrup. A spark of warm affection bloomed within Spock’s abdomen, coupling with the kind of fond amusement he had often witnessed between his parents whenever their differing cultures caused a slight misunderstanding.

Withdrawing his hand to resume eating, Spock inclined his head. “Indeed.”

“Oh, come on,” Jim laughed. “You can’t tell me you’re not at least somewhat intrigued by what happened last night, Spock. There’s a whole universe in my head!”

Spock felt the edges of his mouth twitch, threatening to curl into a smile. “While I have taken part in a number of melds throughout the course of my life, I do agree yesterday has been a unique experience. I am, however, surprised by your enthusiasm. You appeared rather subdued once we came across the red vehicle while melding.”

Jim shrugged, the movement jagged and unnatural. “It was not something I expected to see. I was caught off guard.”

There was something Spock could not glean from Jim’s words, hidden somewhere within the furrow of his drawn brow and the downward curve of his lips. A kind of obscured pain Spock was unable to accurately name, old and burrowed deep, the sensation seeping past the thick shield surrounding the link, like the chill of a cold evening would through sturdy cloth. It was clear Jim did not wish to speak about whatever memory their journey to the core of Jim’s mind had unearthed.

Some part inside Spock was tempted to peer beyond the shields, to prod and poke until the mystery burst open, revealing itself. Curiosity had always been a driving force behind a number of Spock’s actions, and it had taken him years to learn how to keep it from overriding the very principles of his upbringing. However, this time, it was not a mere pursuit for knowledge drawing Spock towards the unknown.

Instead, a helpless sort of frustration had built somewhere at the base of Spock’s skull, drilling inwards with every pained twitch ghosting across Jim’s face. For whatever reason, Spock had grown angry at the thought of not knowing how to ease Jim’s anguish. The sensation was not new, but its appearance surprised Spock nonetheless. It had encroached upon Spock like a flood, rising in subtle waves, nudging at Spock to act, to soothe away whatever caused Jim to retreat into himself.

And yet, Spock could not – not ever – follow the temptation. It would be a gross invasion of privacy; one Jim would not forgive Spock for. Determining it time for a change in subject, Spock drew a breath and spoke, “I will contact my parents later today and offer for us to visit their home in the near future. If I do not, I fear my mother may be inclined to visit me, instead.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jim hummed, spearing a sliced fruit onto his fork. “That’d be good. Wouldn’t want her to stumble in here like that.”

“Indeed. The bond, we have not yet had time to acclimatize to the bond, nor spoken as to how we should interact with one another from now on.”

“Interact?” Brows furrowing, Jim waved the fork about, almost causing the fruit to dislodge from its tines. “What do you mean? Should we be acting differently? You said your people aren’t all that keen on touching. I thought that included any kind of PDA.”

“PDA?”

“Public displays of affection. You know, small things, like holding hands. That kind of stuff.”

“Holding hands is not something I would consider a ‘small thing’, when applied to a bonded pair, Jim,” Spock replied.

Jim blinked, a tick of confusion clear in his eyes, before it was wiped away with a quiet snort of laughter. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You have that… thing. With the hands.”

“Yes.”

“It’s very intimate, isn’t it? Touching someone’s hand. Because of that touch telepathy of yours. It’s like-,” Jim broke off, a crimson flush crawling up his throat and flooding the apples of his cheeks. “Like a kiss.”

“If one were to translate it into a human standard of intimacy, then, yes. A kiss would be an appropriate descriptor.” Spock acquiesced, his eyes falling upon Jim’s fingers where they wrapped around the thin body of the fork. “Like on your home planet Terra, there are diverse ways to perform the act of _oz’esta_ , each varying in intensity and intimacy. Much of these aspects depend on one’s personal intent and how much transference between minds is given, if any.”

“You share minds when you kiss?”

“Not always, no. But if we wish to convey a particular kind of intention to avoid misunderstandings, then it is often easier to allow for a miniscule touch between minds. Of course, in some situations, the intention is quite clear and a mindmeld might occur due to… other reasons.” Clearing his throat once with a quick cough, Spock returned his gaze to the meal before him.

A peal of unrestrained laughter fell from Jim’s mouth, loud and filling what had once been a tranquil, quiet home. “Oh, I think I know what those reasons might be.”

“Indeed.”

Jim’s head tilted in a slow, deliberate nod. “So, we should… definitely look into practicing these things, right? The… the _oz’esta_ … finger touching?”

“Yes. I believe it would be beneficial if we were to engage in a number of intimate gestures in order to appear genuine in our affections towards one another. My people may be outwardly private, but the symptoms of a newly formed bond are difficult to overcome due to their intensity.” Hesitating for a moment, Spock held out his index and middle finger, the rest of his digits folded down against his palm. “This is how a bonded pair may greet one another while in public. A touching for the fingertips is considered appropriate.”

Jim nodded, his own hand moving forward, warm fingertips coming to rest against Spock’s the touch lingering. For a moment, neither of them moved, their breathing loud in the silence. Then, Jim’s fingers twitched, slipping, brushing. The movement was small, but enough to prompt Spock to withdraw, startled.

“Oh,” Jim chuckled, face twisted into a pained grimace. “Whoops?”

Spock shook his head. “It is all right. I was unprepared, that is all.”

“Sorry, I thought… well, you held my hands yesterday, so I thought it’d be okay.” Jim gave a quick shrug, lips curved into a lopsided smile.

“I will do my best to anticipate your actions next time,” Spock assured.

“Still, I’m sorry. Pretty sure even on your planet it’s considered bad etiquette to start a make-out session without asking for consent first.”

“Jim, it is of no matter. You meant no harm and I was merely startled.” Touching his fingertips to Jim’s knuckles, just as he had done the day before, Spock cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would enjoy venturing outside, after we have eaten. It may prove easier to attempt familiarizing ourselves with one another if we are not focused on the task. I believe if you wore one of my robes, you will be able to spend some time beyond the perimeters of my home.”

“Really?” Jim exclaimed. “I mean, are you sure?”

“Yes, I am certain,” Spock replied, confused by Jim’s need to question the conclusion Spock had come to. “I believe my initial caution may have been… excessive.”

“I’ll say.” Jim’s knee bumped against Spock’s, eyes twinkling. “Now come on, finish your breakfast. While I love your house, I really need to get out of here.”

They left the house an hour after concluding breakfast, both of them dressed in robes to protect their skin from the scorching sun above. Jim’s initially excitement about leaving the sanctuary of Spock’s home soon began to flounder in the heat but Spock refrained from urging him to turn back. Jim was, while quite amicable and easily reasoned with, rather stubborn when it came to acknowledging his own limits.

“Hey.” Jim’s shoulder bumped into Spock’s. “Think we can try the hand thing again? This counts as being out in public, right?”

Spock’s eyebrow inched towards his hairline. “…I believe it does, yes.”

“Great!” Jim fingers met Spock’s, curling around them and holding on. “This is what we do on Earth to show our affection in public.”

“I… see,” Spock replied, clearing his throat when his voice came out rougher than anticipated. “This would not be considered appropriate on Vulcans. Between a child and their parent, it is permitted, but between adults, it would be considered quite daring and even unseemly.”

“Yeah, well, I’m human and you’re part human. We get to make some exceptions, right?”

Spock drew a deep breath and allowed his fingers to tighten around Jim’s smaller hand. “Yes, I believe we do.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably riddled with errors. But since it is done, I thought... why not post it. If anything is not making sense or sentences are unfinished, please alert me, as I shifted a number of scenes around twice.

Silence reigned within the confines of the hover car, broken only by the sound of the engine and the quiet music streaming from the radio. Glancing away from the crude road before him, Spock allowed his eyes to stray towards the passenger seat, where Jim sat curled against the car door. As expected, Jim still did not seem quite done engaging in furious silence just yet.

Spock allowed a small sigh to push through his nostrils. “Jim, I understand you are angry, however, I could not allow you to continue walking after you almost collapsed. Once we have arrived in _Shi’Kahr_ , we may resume our walk, but I will be more comfortable knowing there will be a doctor close by if necessary.”

“You stabbed me in the neck!” Jim huffed. “With a needle!”

“I administered a tri-ox compound in order to save you from potential brain damage due to a lack of oxygen, Jim,” Spock replied. “My home was built to accommodate humans, due to my mother, which is why you have not been subjected to a tri-ox hypo spray sooner.”

Jim grunted. “Could’ve said so before you decided to maul with me with a _needle_.”

Spock refrained from closing his eyes in utter exasperation and risk crashing the car, instead reaching out to brush his fingertips against Jim’s knuckles. “I am aware and I apologize for my oversight.”

The synthetic leather creaked as Jim unfolded himself from his scrunched-up position, shoulders rising and falling in a quick shrug. “Fine. Just warn me next time.”

“I will endeavor to do so,” Spock replied, retrieving his hand and maneuvering the car around another sharp curve.

“Good.” Jim nodded. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“ _Shi’Kahr_. I thought it prudent to move our outing where we would be able to call for medical assistance, should you require it.”

“I’m not going to faint again, Spock, you gave me that medication, I should be fine, now, right?” Jim shook his head. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping me housebound this whole time and now you’re taking me straight into the city.”

“You and I will be robed, there is no reason to believe anyone will pay either of us any mind. In addition, _Shi’Kahr_ is quite popular among tourists due to its architecture and it being _T’Khasi’s_ diplomatic center.”

“So, you’re saying one extraterrestrial more wandering the streets of _Shi’Kahr_ won’t make anyone bat an eye at us.”

“Indeed. In addition, it will allow you a much greater insight into my home world than a simple walk along the edge of _Sas-a-Shar_.”

“If by that you mean the desert, then I’ve got news for you, Spock, your entire planet seems to be made up of nothing but sand.”

“Which is why I believe you will find the city of _Shi’Kahr_ much more to your liking, Jim.”

Founded long before the time of Surak, _Shi’Kahr_ was among the oldest of settlements still in existence. The city had grown from what had once been a miniscule farming town, sprawling ever outwards in a circular wave as Spock’s people began to conquer the land through war and a thirst for knowledge. Still, _Shi’Kahr_ , as it stood now, did not come to be until Surak himself lead the people of _T’Khasi_ down a new, peaceful path, allowing them to settle and pursue a life of logic.

 Now, _Shi’Kahr_ rose from the gleaming desert sands towards the sky, its largest buildings like spiraling mirrors and the streets filled with a fascinating amalgamation of cultures. Spock did not doubt Jim would be delighted at the prospect of discovering the nooks and crannies of the city.

The hover car slid past the city border, carrying them into the busy stream of the early afternoon traffic and further on towards the city center. By then, Jim was twisting in his seat, the thin, green scarf covering his distinct golden curls already slipping due to the constant motion. Spock shook his head once, his mouth twitching at the twinge of fondness sparking through him at the sight of Jim’s child-like wonder, their bond thrumming with blinding excitement.

Returning his attention to the task at hand, Spock located a designated parking area and proceeded to settle the car into the closet free space. Jim did not hesitate to pry the car door open the moment the vehicle had been shut off, clambering out of his seat with a cry of utter triumph. Quick to follow, Spock moved around the car in order to straighten Jim’s attire before the young man decided to bolt off by himself.

“Spock, it’s awesome! Everything’s tall and shiny,” Jim laughed, tilting his head obediently when Spock reached out for the scarf. “Spock, this is amazing.”

Spock inclined his head, tucking the scarf neatly around Jim’s head and neck. “It is gratifying you approve, Jim. Would you like to see more?”

“Oh, absolutely.” A manic gleam illuminated Jim’s eyes. “I want to see everything.”

“An ambitious endeavor,” Spock acknowledged and stepped away to take in Jim’s appearance once again.

The cloak hung a bit lower on Jim than anticipated, brushing the bottom of Jim’s knees instead of stopping an inch above them as it would have on Spock’s larger frame. The linen shoes were new, but already somewhat discolored by the stroll Jim and Spock had taken a short while prior. The cotton trousers were cut close to Jim’s slender legs and it had surprised Spock how well he had been able to estimate Jim’s clothing sizes when he had been out to procure the items for his temporary housemate. Overall, Spock concluded Jim would not attract unwanted attention dressed as he was.

“Well?” Jim drawled, eyes narrowing. “Do I pass the inspection, Officer Spock?”

“Yes.” Pulling the hood of his own cloak up to over his head, Spock held out his arm for Jim to grasp onto. “Please ensure you do not stray from my person. _Shi’Kahr_ is a large city and while you are quite proficient in _Vuhlkansu_ already, I am uncertain whether you would be able to find your way back home.”

Jim nodded, looping his arm around Spock’s elbow. “Yeah, I’m a bit directionally challenged.”

Foregoing a direct response, Spock locked the car and pulled Jim along towards the parking lot’s exit. The sidewalks proved even busier than the streets, the throngs of tourists and natives alike sweeping them along like a tidal wave. As they journeyed on, Jim’s grip around Spock’s elbow began to tighten and it took Spock a moment to recognize it as an act of anxiety, rather and excitement.

“Jim? Are you well?” Spock inquired, bending at the waist and keeping his voice as low as possible to ensure they would not be overheard.

“Yeah,” Jim breathed. “Just… been a while since I’ve been in a city this big. I live in the country-side. On a farm. Just my Mom, Frank and me.”

“Do you wish to return to my home? We may come back here on another day. I should have expected there to be a larger influx of tourists, seeing as there have been a number of ambassadorial meetings between the members of the Federation of Planets regarding a possible inclusion of Terra in its midst.”

“They’re discussing the fate of my planet without asking my planet for its opinion?” Jim squawked, brows furrowing while his mouth puckered into an interesting imitation of an aquatic bird’s bill. “That sounds mighty shady.”

“No, Jim, they have invited a Terran delegation to _Shi’Kahr_ in order to discuss the aforementioned issue. I suspect most of those roaming the streets are attempting to… catch a glimpse of your kind. It appears logic does not make one refrain from pursuing knowledge by way of gawking.”

“Guess it’s not that different from how Earth operates, then. Everyone loves a good spectacle.” Twisting his body to the left, Jim gestured towards a store on the opposite side of the broad street. “Can we go check that one out?”

Following Jim’s line of sight, Spock took in the small shop. Its display offered a vast array of colored fabric, the swaths draped in methodical loops along wooden poles to showcase the numerous shades and designs they held. It was a store very familiar to Spock, as it was the same one he had purchased Jim’s current headwear from.

Turning his head, Spock met Jim’s pleading gaze and nodded. “Of course.”

“Great! I really want a blue scarf to go with those other pants you got for me. Hey, do you think we can get something to eat later? Do you guys even have restaurants?”

For a brief moment, Spock considered inquiring why Jim believed restaurants, of all things, would be a solely Terran-found establishment. “We may eat dinner at a restaurant should you feel hungry, yes. Now, please stay close, we must cross the street and I do not wish to lose you on the way.”

“Aye, Captain Spock.”

Over the course of the next 5.4 hours Spock found himself tugged through the innermost parts of _Shi’Kahr_. There was no clear drive behind whichever shop Jim chose to enter, his demeanor much like a small child let lose within a toy store. A very large and difficult to maneuver toy store. It did not take long before they were both laden down with bags filled with various items, some quite useful, some bought because Spock had found he could not withstand the sight of Jim’s pleading gaze for longer than 6.89 seconds.

When the thought of entering another store had finally lost its appeal for Jim, they moved on to exploring the various cultural sights peppering the city. A visit to the echoing halls of the _Museum of History_ became the first stop on their journey, and Spock did not hesitate to recount the rise of his people from their blood-soaked origins to the day which brought them beyond the limits of their planet. The blooming garden of _Vuhnaya Nartau_ followed, created as a visual celebration of diversity, its colorful collection of plant life encased in a protective globe of opaque glass meant to ward off the searing heat of the day.

Past myriads of small wonders Spock walked them, offering Jim a way to quench the familiar thirst for experiencing something entirely new. And all the while, Spock found himself relishing in the illogical warmth he felt whenever Jim gave an exclamation of delight. More than once, Spock found himself struggling to keep from smiling as Jim explored the world around him with the unrestrained curiosity of a young child.

Still, it seemed even someone as energetic as Jim had their limits.

The sun had already begun to set, when they decided to make their way back to the parking lot Spock had left his car in. The sidewalks were quite busy despite the late hour, but easier to maneuver now, as those more susceptible to the encroaching cold of _T’Khasi’s_ night had left to find shelter inside.

Beside Spock, Jim stumbled, threatening to fall for a breathless second before straightening again with a soft grunt. Concern washed over Spock, his mind instinctively reaching for the golden thread connecting him to Jim. The link was thrumming with an acidic mixture of nausea and exhaustion, and Spock cursed himself for keeping his own shields too tightly knit for their connection to alert him of Jim’s distress sooner.

“Jim?” Spock set down the bags weighing heavy on his arms to grasp Jim by the shoulder, steadying him. “What is wrong?”

“Dizzy,” Jim replied, licking at his upper lip, the skin dry and reddened. “We have any water left?”

“Yes, one moment.” Crouching down, Spock retrieved their last water bottle from one of the linen bags, offering it to Jim once it had been opened. “Drink slowly. Perhaps we should not have eaten at a restaurant, considering your history with foreign foods.”

Jim shook his head, nipping at the water, clutching the bottle with both hands. “Not a reaction. Just feel sick and dizzy. Probably from the heat. Are we at the car, yet?”

“We will arrive at our destination in approximately five-point-three minutes, Jim. Please, allow me to carry the rest of the purchases, I do not wish for you to exert yourself any further.”

There were no protests from Jim’s side, instead he allowed Spock to remove the bags from his grasp without so much as a twitch. Unusual, since Jim had been quite adamant he was capable of carrying at least half of the purchases they had made. The realization sent another spark of worry racing through Spock’s abdomen. Reigning the emotion in before it could filter through their link, Spock nudged a soothing caress across the thin tendril instead, the action executed without a second thought.

A small smile curved Jim’s lips, glassy eyes focusing momentarily upon Spock. “I’ll be fine.”

“Fine has a variety of meanings,” Spock replied. “Are you certain you will be able to reach the car without falling?”

“Pretty sure. Just got to go a bit slower,” Jim assured, taking a few steps forward. “Come on, Spock. Car’s calling for us.”

Spock’s brow began to crease under the strain of his suppressed frown. “It is not. If you are suffering from auditory hallucinations, perhaps you should wait here for me to retrieve you with the car, Jim.”

“No,” Jim chuckled, rubbing at his temple. “I’m not hallucinating, it was a… metaphor, I guess. I just meant I’d really like to get home sooner rather than later. I think the heat might’ve messed with my head a bit.”

“I see.” Spock began to walk once more, slower than before to accommodate Jim’s staggering steps. “Your language appears to be quite complex in this sense. You often say one thing, but mean another. It is… confusing.”

Jim grunted. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Eyebrows rising, Spock tilted his head. “I am telling you about it, Jim.”

“Okay, now you’re definitely messing with me.”

“Vulcans do not mess with anyone, Jim.”

“Oh, go suck an egg.”

“Why would-?” Spock was unable to finish his question, born this time from genuine confusion, as Jim had uttered a guttural sound of relief which drew the attention of a few others wandering about the large parking area.

Jim did not seem fazed, stumbling a few steps forward to slump against the side of Spock’s hover car. Arms flung across the hood of the vehicle, Jim smeared his cheek along the gleaming, black varnish, leaving greasy smudges behind. An unsanitary and quite undignified response to the sight of a car, but perhaps this was just another Terran custom Spock simply did not comprehend. After all, Spock had seen his mother call the A.I. installed within her home a number of strange and infantile terms of endearment whenever it did what it was programmed to do.

Leaving Jim to his own devices, Spock loaded their numerous purchases into the car, ensuring the less sturdy items would not be crushed while they drove home. When every bag had found its rightful place, Spock shut the car trunk and moved to enter the driver’s side door, but was halted in his tracks by a loud, painful retch. Alarmed, Spock whirled about, finding Jim no longer draped over the car, but bent almost in half as he choked and shook through a series of convulsive heaves.

Surreal and incomprehensible was Jim’s current predicament to Spock’s unprepared brain, his mind addled by his own fear and the influx of jumbled distress signals pouring into it from Jim’s side of the link. Somehow, Spock managed to propel himself forward, hands grasping onto Jim, supporting the shuddering body as it finally lost the fight to whatever ailed it. The next heave brought forth the meal they had had two hours ago, splattering onto the ground in a soupy mixture of greens and yellows.

Jim vomiting ceased after 6.7 minutes, the noise replaced by heavy breathing and the occasional whimper. Carefully, Spock opened the passenger side door and helped Jim settle into the soft seat. Then, uncertain how to help, Spock removed the heavy cloak and the delicate headscarf from Jim’s body. Jim had mentioned the heat might be the culprit, had he not?

“Hey! You alright in there?” a gruff voice called out, the words somewhat mangled by the Universal Translator they had been filtered through.

Ducking out of the car, Spock straightened up and met the sharp gaze of a stranger. The man was human, Spock was certain, and the strange uniform declared him to be part of the Terran delegation. Curious. “My bond mate is experiencing a severe reaction to the heat. I am unsure how to help.”

“Symptoms?” There was something about the man’s demeanor, the way he held himself and spoke, which made Spock wonder if he was perhaps interacting with a doctor.

Glancing at Jim, Spock responded, “He appeared to have some difficulty walking, complained of feeling dizzy and I believe you may have heard him vomit just now.”

“Sounds like heat exhaustion. From what I learned, your people and mine are pretty similar when it comes to those kinds of symptoms. Make sure he drinks, keep him cool and if he gets worse, call a doctor _immediately_.” The man glanced at the small device in his hand, resembling a cruder version of a personal communicator. A steep crease formed between the stranger’s brows. “I have to go. You going to be alright by yourself?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Spock said, lifting his hand to bid the man goodbye. “Live long and prosper.”

“Peace and long life,” the man replied, offering a quick wave before dashing off into the opposite direction.

How strange.

“Who was that?” Jim slurred, drawing Spock’s attention back to the situation at hand.

“No one, Jim. Would you like some water?”


End file.
